


Wonderland

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Afterlife, Alice in Wonderland References, Costume Kink, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/F, Femslash, Hell, Old Gods, Sex, Slash, Smut, Wolfram & Hart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An offer of salvation via a trip down the rabbit hole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonderland

It was like she was begging to be corrupted, the Halloween costume for the fancy dress party from Hell by way of a raver fantasy. Who would send out such a pretty little thing in that kind of dress? Blue silk, as soft and delicate as butterfly wings, puffed out by a crinoline with taffeta ruffles, rustling in a way that was just subsonic. A sound that you could only hear in your imagination but tortured you the whole way, trying to hear more. Imagining the rub of all those fluttery layers against fluttery, ticklish girlskin...

She was Alice, down to the pink O of her mouth, the faint swell of breast that was chastely modest, and blue glitter shoes tied with satin ribbons that matched the one tied in golden blonde hair. Even her stockings looked expensive, and the effect was pornographic. Not a smudge on her, as pristine as if she'd stepped from Lewis Carroll's Victorian fantasy and found it quite to her liking. Definitely pornographic, because what could she do except mar that fantasy innocence and beauty, and what could I do except want to be the one to do it?

"Looks like you've got competition for this year's Halloween bash," someone muttered, some idiot covered in fur and wearing a rainbow wig. "How much did that costume cost, anyway?"

"Cost isn't an issue in Hell, Barsen," I said, drawing myself up to my full height. "We reflect what we believe ourselves to be. Furry clown man."

"Better a furry clown than a sucker," Barsen muttered, hurrying away before I could get a good bead on him and remember to get him for that later. Besides, I knew full well that if Alice was a symbol of purity and wonder, I looked just as good as ripe, wicked conniving's poster girl.

"I thought you were dead and gone," I said, gliding across the floor in six-inch heels with black leather ribbons that wrapped around my ankles and up bare leg to the knee, tied in elaborate knots. They hurt like a son of a bitch, but the effect was worth it, especially with my skirt slit to six inches above my knee.

"Ditto," she replied, a sneer on her skinny Texan face. I knew there was a subtle game being played here; she was dead. More than dead. But I had the scent of something pure to wreck, and it was something Wesley never got to touch. Closer up, I was impressed at the level of detail. They were white silk stockings, the kind that felt like heaven when used to tie wrists to wrought iron headboards. I had a much-beloved pair I lost in death they reminded me of. "Isn't that outfit a little whorish?"

"If you got it, flaunt it," I said, striking a smirking pose. As a matter of fact, I felt my cleavage was somewhat cheap, and the rubies lining the plunging neckline were overdone, but the dress felt good against my skin. Velvet, satin, gems, and a pearl-and-jet net to catch up most of my hair, letting a few curls hang against my neck. Add in a goblet of good white wine, and I definitely was working the Wicked Queen archetype. "At least I'm not trying for schoolgirl fetish."

"Just somebody's evil stepmother. Or, y'know, maybe you're trying to be the ultimate Goth vampire?" she asked. "Either way..."

"Why are you here again?" I asked. "I'm almost certain you're not on the list."

"Oh, sweetie," and there was the oddest flash of **knowing** in her girl-next-door face, "I'm here to see the queen."

"I bet you are," I said, grabbing her by her skinny shoulders and getting a smell of...ye gods, Love's Baby Soft?...before pulling her close enough so we were the only ones who could hear what I was saying. "Question is, why should I want to see you?"

"Because," and Fred's voice was a saccharine dagger sliding over the skin of my throat, "I have so many things you want, if you'll only listen."

I laughed, and I couldn't help but press my wineglass against her thin lips and tilt it, only to be surprised to see her drink and swallow, eyelids demurely shading her eyes from me even while she smiled with a dangerously sensual tint warming her cheeks.

"Aren't you worried that now you have to stay here?" I taunted, a knot of curiosity and fear and lust warming my belly and sending out tendrils on vine-like nerves outward. "I'd enjoy that. I think I'd tie you to the bed for a week and see how long it took to break you..."

"Oh, my goodness gracious me," Fred said in a mockery of her former virgin tones of moral purity, "Why do you keep thinkin' I'm a stupid girl, Lilah? This is a mixed party. If you cheated, I'm sure it would be you chained to a bed by something much less tasty than sweet little me."

"You're starting to make me very interested in what you've gotten hidden underneath those frills and ribbons, Miss Burkle," I said, finishing the wine in my glass and letting it fall to the floor in a musical crash. "Would you like to go somewhere more private to discuss these things you have that I'd like, and what you want from me?"

"Finally, some common sense," Fred said. "I was wondering if I'd have to hand you an engraved invitation."

"Curiouser and curiouser," I murmured, linking my arm around hers and enjoying the shiver of her skin as we swept out of the reception area and to one of the private boardrooms. "Since when do the goody-goodies send Alice down the rabbit hole to negotiate?"

"Personnel's a little tight since that last offensive upside, and nobody thought you'd much like seeing Angel at your party," Fred said. "And I'm not exactly the mouse you remember, Miss Morgan."

She reached up and with one fingertip, traced the outline of my lips, smudging the plum-dark lipstick before pulling away and sucking the besmirched fingertip into her mouth with round eyes and a faux-innocent look on her face. If I had a heart, it would have sped up at the spectacle, especially when Fred, of all people, coyly let her hand brush against mine before running, gazelle-like, for the first open room and expected me to follow.

Running in six inch heels is a damned difficult feat, and Fred did look suitably impressed when I kicked the door shut three seconds after she flew into the room.

"Tell me a story, Miss Burkle," I said, eying the beautiful mirage waiting for me to pounce. "I thought your soul burned up in the big shiny fires of resurrection. Tell me how it is you're still here to bear tidings of alliance and blackmail at a Wolfram and Hart fancy dress party?"

She tilted her head, and the articulation was alien, as was the gleam in her eyes. Not quite sweet little Fred after all. Not quite not Fred, but still. "So you **do** know," she said. "I was beginning to wonder if you were wholly motivated by lust."

"I'm not stupid," I said softly, putting my hand on skinny chest and pushing Fred ever-so-slowly backward. "Lustful, evil, and currently stuck in a bad position, but you shouldn't underestimate me."

Smiling sweetly, Fred reached out, took one of my hands to her mouth, and bit down gently on my thumb, watching my reaction. I did what any rapidly beginning to be aroused and seduced woman would...I threw my head back and mmmed my approval while bracing myself against the wall with my other hand.

"What do you say, Lilah?" Fred asked, suddenly pulling me closer with both hands on my waist. "Let's forget the business until...later."

"My pleasure," I replied, shuddering with how alive and how wet being wanted made me. Dragging my tongue over my lower lip hungrily, I decided to satisfy a curiosity, and sweeping my hand over little miss mouse's throat, felt for a pulse. Fred was too busy enjoying, so she missed that I noticed she had one. One that was far too fast for anything human.

"That feels nice," she said as I continued my sweep downward, over modest blue silk and the darts at her breasts. "You could keep doin' that all night."

As if to highlight her point, her hand topped mine and guided it to her hip, disguised in crinoline and taffeta. The material was as decadent as I'd imagined, and I badly wanted to tear her out of the dress and fuck on it, but that was too obvious, too like the wicked little girl this thing playing Fred thought I was. Instead, I gripped her hip and spun her, pulling her back against me before lifting the hair off the back of her neck and nuzzling against it, caressing those non-existent breasts through the material.

"My, my," I said after a moment of muffled moans and squirming. "What a lot of buttons you have, Miss Burkle."

"I..." and that was pure Fred. "I guess I must."

Gently (and you have no idea how difficult gentle is with long, blood-red fingernails, to say nothing of the spiritual feminine equivalent of a trembling hard-on), I began unbuttoning her confection of a gown, and exposing all that pretty skin, the slightest inklings of a plan in the back of my head.

"It's a very pretty dress," I said, slowly helping her remove one sleeve, and then the other. "I wouldn't want to leave a single mark on it. Not where anyone could see."

"No," Fred agreed, stepping out of the dress and handing it to me. She hadn't needed to wear a bra, and her nipples were peaked and accusing before Fred crossed her arms over them. I took a moment to fondle the lovely material of the dress before carefully setting in over a chair.

"There," I said with a smile, turning back to the delicate picture of frilly white underthings and blue glitter Mary Janes before me. "Now, get on your knees."

She surprised me by doing it, letting her arms fall to her sides so I could see every sign of her desire, from fluttering lashes, gleaming eyes, swollen lips, a faint blush, and I hoisted myself on the table, letting my legs swing back and forth.

"I'm kneeling," said Fred at last. "Why's that again?"

"I like the way it looks on you," I said, reaching up to undo my necklace, the bracelets, the matching rings, and even the hair-net so that the rest of my hair tumbled around my face. "And it's so rare that a God-King kneels to anyone, let alone one of the fallen."

Fred shimmered slightly, and hints of blue started tinting her eyes and forehead. "Fallen," she murmured. "Wouldn't that suggest a high ground to begin with?"

Ouch. Note to self: Illyria would in fact go there, so it was best not to play too idly. "You've got a point," I said, leaning back. "So there are many things I apparently want from you."

"Yes," Fred said.

"Prove it," I said, looking at my fingernails and raising one knee high enough for a long, long look up my skirt. "Make me want something."

She laughed -- it laughed -- and I felt something long-banished to the depths of idle fantasy skitter down my spine as Fred leaned over and crawled forward and I caught my breath as she took hold of my beribboned calf and licked up to behind my knee.

"Do you want me to undress you?" she asked coolly. "I imagine all that velvet is starting to get a little sticky and sweaty."

"The dead don't sweat," I said with an insouciant smile.

"The undead do," Fred said with an innocent smile as her fingers traced runes on my inner thigh. "But I don't think I'll undress you anyway. I like to show where I've been."

I hadn't learned Illyria's stories at Wolfram and Hart. It was much, much before that. So long ago that it couldn't have been me who learned them, my breath caught in my throat, blood thrumming at the devastation and the glory of the Old Ones.

Her unneeded breath was warm against my skin, softening me up for the inevitable, and my hips strained upward, tearing the skirt a little more, each thread unraveling as I gripped harder on the table, whimpering for more more more.

"Ruined, beautiful, foolish thing," Fred...but no, that was definitely Illyria's voice burying itself against my skin as I shifted and squirmed toward her mouth. "I can smell you...and you are exactly who I remember."

With that, she plunged her tongue into me and I screamed, throwing my legs over her shoulders and arching so far back my head could almost hit the table. She was colder than I was, and every motion of her tongue was making me shake, making me remember.

"Ruined, beautiful, foolish thing," they had said once upon a time. Oh, I hadn't cared then, because I had loved, had been young and impetuous and they were all envious of what I had fallen for.

"Yes," Illyria hissed. "Like that. Good girl."

"Please," I moaned. "God. More."

She had me spread so wide open, lapping me up while cruel hard fingers twinged closer to my clit without quite touching, stroking mercilessly. I could taste blood...I had bitten my lip that hard, and the metallic bitterness was mixed with sweat.

Power, lust, knowledge. It was worth destiny, wasn't it? I had seen so much, and loved what I saw. Loved what I had been promised, the promise as arousing as his hands on my bared stomach and small of my back. Once upon a time. I had told the story myself, hadn't I? Third grade, Catholic school. Sister Mary Simon had been scandalized.

"You're far too young to skate so close to sacrilege..."

My heels were digging into Fred's back, each slurp of air I took sounding obscene, matched with the kitten whines of exhalation.

"Oh, I think I'm gonna..."

It was getting unbearably hot.

Eyes screwed shut, the whole world focused on the thing sucking and licking away between my legs, and I was gonna come, oh, fuck yes, if I could shake the ghosts of memory rattling around like horrors.

"More," I said, aching with how good it was, but how I couldn't quite get over that edge, just not quite enough, needed something harder, faster...more. Fred's tongue teasing up and down, and I could fucking flash out of existence, it burned so good.

Wanted to come, was going to kill Wolfram and Hart if I couldn't get off like this, was going to...

"Oh," I said, a breath of almost-stillness while everything was heat and slick and the sweet burst of release thrumming out so I couldn't do anything except keen out an assent while I tried not to collapse.

Reached for Fred's hair, sweat-damp, tugged her closer, because it wasn't enough, not one burst of ecstasy and then a quid pro quo for her, I wasn't done yet...

"Is that all you want?" Illyria asked, batting my hand away like an annoying insect. "To be pleasured into insensibility?"

"Mmm, shiny," I said, trying to grin as she rose to her full height, sticky with sweat and me and flushed with blood and lust. "It's a fun game. We do it a lot, we humans."

Illyria's chuckle was raw against my skin. "I don't think you want idle bliss, **Miss Morgan** ," she said, looking me over.

"But it'll do," I said, trying to recover my composure. At least I was still mostly clothed, even though my hair was a sweaty, unruly mess, my sleeves stuck to my skin uncomfortably, and I was sticky and wet halfway down my thigh.

"I..." and Illyria-Fred had me by both wrists. "Don't." Jerked to my feet in one smooth motion. "Think." Slammed against the nearest wall so that my head twanged and ached and I idly thought of my severed throat. "So." A scarring hard set of kisses, biting down on my jaw, my earlobe before pressing against my mouth again.

It wouldn't do at all; she was perfectly right. Not one mild orgasm, not when I had pretty skin to mar, not when I could assert my power and demand more. I had once been so much more than this, memory rising closer and closer to the skin, and I had to lay myself open, let myself go, abandon all hope.

I thrust a thigh between Illyria's, into those layer of fluffy crinoline, biting back and thrusting forward. She didn't hesitate to grind against it.

"You were saying something about tying me to the bed?" Fred whispered nastily, licking my ear.

"Oh, to hell with that," I said, smiling as I jerked my wrists free. "I want to see how naughty a proper little girl can be. Sweet little Fred, the holy martyr. You might not be her, but you've got her memories. You've got all sorts of little bits of her stuck in your ointment.."

I grabbed her by the shoulders and tugged us both to our knees, splitting my skirt all the way to the hip. Better access for later. But what to do with the Fred-looking Old One who was attacking my cleavage with her mouth while massaging one of my breasts with the hand not on my ass? Cover her in kisses and send her back a much-mussed Alice? There seemed to be no point. But to let her stay clean was no fun, either.

"Well, what now?" Fred finally asked, looking at me with a much-exasperated pout on her little face. She always did look a little like an alien. Not in a bad way; kind of just like all the sexy aliens on Star Trek. "Aren't you going to ravish me like all the wicked queens do?"

"Oh," and I laughed. "But that's something you want. I thought you were giving me things I wanted. So far I've had nice quick orgasm -- very efficient, by the way -- but if that was all, I can do that all by myself."

Still smiling, I sank onto the floor, one knee raised and the other thigh turned out just so everything was visible, supporting myself on one hand. I let one fingertip rest on my clit, idly rubbing back and forth while my eyes locked with Fred's, letting the sweet ache build.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Illyria said harshly, her breasts rising and falling in quick pants. "You know what it is I require."

In response, I let my eyes half-close and my mouth fall open, rubbing a little harder. I wasn't particularly trying to come again, but I was close, and feeling rather hair-trigger. Fred whimpered, hands balled into fists.

"I don't particularly care what you require," I said, drunk on how wet the prissy princess had to be, almost about to come, looking at those hard little nipples in my face begging to be touched. And it was nice, it being all about me. "It's what **I** want that matters. You came to see me, Illyria and you're getting the full view."

"Jesus," Fred said, and I wondered if she really was still there somehow, or Illyria liked being her because it was easier to deal with puny mortals being Fred. "I forgot that you were kind of a petty bitch sometimes."

"The pettiest...oh, mmm," I said, letting the soft little orgasm wash over me. "That's two for me and none for you! Dear, dear, how queer everything is today...and yet yesterday, things went on just as usual."

Fred looked particularly pinched, but finally sighed. "A curious creature," she said. "Rather like a feline. What is it that you want so terribly, Lilah Morgan?"

"I want to know the meaning of this," I said. "I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly, for I can't understand it myself to begin with."

Fred's eyes sparkled. "You want to know what it is?" she asked. "You're mad. I'm mad."

"And how do you know I'm mad?" I asked, feeling slightly unnerved by Fred's sudden smile.

"You must be," Fred said. "Or you wouldn't have come here."

"I was under contract," I said, feeling quite reasonable. If I was mad, and I wasn't sure at all of that, I at least had perfectly good reason for it. "What's your excuse?"

"Madness," Fred said. "It's eating at you, isn't it? Like a clock that ticks just a beat off."

I had not, of course, forgotten that Fred was topless and I was wearing a split-open velvet skirt and the room stank of sex yet to come. But given the situation, that I had been fucked by a dead girl who I wanted terribly but refused to take, and taken easily by in return, it seemed entirely possible the clock was ticking off-beat.

"So I'm mad, you're mad, and that's the message Angel sent you to Hell to deliver?" I said, slightly regretful. "And I've gone and ruined my pretty dress and even my jewelry seems to have returned to sender. It seems I should get a little more than that."

"Yes, it would seem that way," Fred said, looking coy and delicious. I suddenly had an inkling of a plan, because I wanted power, and one didn't get it by sitting on one's ass and waiting for riddles to answer themselves.

I reached out and squeezed one of those small breasts, flicking at the nipple with sharp nails. Fred squealed, and almost tumbled into my lap. She was so pretty and clean and neat, waiting to be dutifully mussed by the wicked queen and her lust to take and take and take. At least that would be her story. But I had felt that eager tongue plunge into me, and knew there was something hot and dark waiting in the virgin-flat belly, wanting permission to sneak out.

"You'd like it if I lifted that petticoat, wouldn't you?" I asked, feeling a little mad. "I bet you've ruined your panties. Let me see..."

I lifted my petticoat, stuck my head underneath, and got just close enough to feel the heat radiating from Fred's juicy-sweet little cunt. "Yep," I said, emerging with a smile. "Simply dripping."

"Lilah!" Fred said with an anguished gasp. I put my hands on her exposed stomach, stroking lazily.

"Does it hurt yet?" I asked, feeling deliciously wicked. "I bet you're so ready for me to put my fingers down the rabbit hole. A sacrifice to take for the team, oh certainly..."

I put my hand on the small of her back. "You desire this," Illyria's rough voice growled at me. "Don't pretend you don't."

"I want everything," I said, delighted that I was the riddle-maker now. "I'm hungry and evil like that. Always was a foolish thing. But you know what I want enough to play your game?"

"More?" asked Fred.

"A true name," I said, bringing my mouth a breath away from Illyria's before turning away. "A powerful name."

"Your name?" Fred asked contemptuously.

"Is on the tip of my tongue," I said, flickering my tongue in and out with a smug leer, even though I wasn't sure if that were truth or madness, nor even what the difference was in a room that smelled so heavily of sex and power and bare, raw want. "I give you what you want, you give me the name."

"Deal," Illyria said, capturing my mouth inexorably as her hands searched up and down my back. I poured all my frustrated lust down her throat, teeth clashing as she started rubbing against my semi-clad thigh, the rustle pleasantly distracting and the silk soft and sweet where my knee brushed against hers.

She was about to vibrate through her stockings; then again, so was I, hot and wet and slick from the pleasant burn of power and negotiation, from the way she touched me, and how close I was to breaking open a secret that taunted me, haunted me, my very bones aching with something I wasn't supposed to know.

Carefully, oh, very carefully, I pushed her down and watched the ruffles fly up as her legs immediately parted, needy and wanting and the lust of an Old One was very elemental, wasn't it? I sneered, and lowering myself to her shoe (a hint of a gleam in Illyria's eye?) I took the end of the blue satin ribbon of her Mary Jane and tugged the bow undone with my teeth, holding her ankle and teasing it with one fingertip.

"Stop...teasing..." Fred growled as I raised her stockinged foot to my lips and kissed, leaving a Vamp-dark lipstick mark on her insole. No one would see it except us. I did the same with her other foot, ignoring how wide she was holding her knees.

"You know," I said, swatting her thigh. "I am not your gynecologist."

"No," she snapped. "He'd already be inside by now."

I couldn't help it; I laughed. Fred laughed, too, but lifted her hips and whimpered right afterward, reminding me that I got to enjoy watching Fred beg me with every nasty impulse in her to fuck her and fuck her hard. I lowered my head to her stockings and started biting, quick, almost painless bites determined to wreck the silk, but only where she could feel it, feel how she'd let herself enjoy this.

I definitely had something of the ruiner within.

But the time had come, the Walrus said, to rid both of us of these ridiculous stockings, and it couldn't have been simpler, simply pull and discard, and grind my hand between Fred's awkwardly splayed legs. I peeked over her crinoline again to smile, and enjoyed the intense expression on Fred-Illyria's face as she cupped and massaged her breasts, breathing shallowly and quickly.

Mmm, shiny. I lowered my head and slid two fingers inside, enjoying the whine of need as those thin hips shifted up again. Suddenly wanted to make her come as fast and wild and crazy as possible. And she was already so slick that I had to add a third finger, twisting and stroking and searching for anyplace that made Fred squeak extra-loud.

"Oh, don't stop, don't stop," she pleaded with me, all Fred in the moment. "Feels so good like that..."

I knew how to build tension. Slow the fingers, flick her clit with the tip of my tongue and blow.

Listen to Fred scream as I plunged in harder and deeper, trying to fuck her as roughly as I could, watching the hips roll back and forth, trying to get me in deeper. And then lower my head closer to her lips, her clit and start to lick fast, sharp, and in rhythm to the cries from Fred's lips, not the roll and thrust of her hips.

Find just that spot, spongy in the slickness, and slide-press turn over it with a knuckle, and Fred almost levitates off the ground, coming over my fingers, sticky-salt on my tongue, moaning to God as she did it, and I pounced then, dragged my sticky fingers over her belly to her mouth as an offering, rubbing against her needily, kissing shallow and light and delicate as her body rubbed against mine, Illyria's hand on my ass now, my hand dipping back down into a glaze of sweat and wet and both of us, rubbing her clit, rubbing mine when she wasn't fast enough...

"Yes, yes, yes," she babbled, and I was whimpering along with her, so close, so close now that I could have cried with frustration because it seemed to take so long!

But I was there when Illyria arched up gracefully, crying out the name for me into my ear as I stopped her upward momentum, my own real name long since remembered and left unuttered for security reasons...it wouldn't do to share that vital bit of information, would it? And the savage scream she tore from me with one last scrape of her thumb across my clit was sweeter for being a victory cry.

"Now you talk like a sensible child," Illyria said, laughing at me as I tumbled across her chest. "We've had enough of this subject, have we not?"

"I don't know what you mean by talk," I said shakily. "I didn't hear so much talking as I did incoherent screaming."

"The question is," Illyria said, pushing me off of her and wiping her face with the back of her hand, "Whether words mean anything at all. Human words, of course, mean nothing, but some almost come close."

I ignored her. Of course, now that affairs were settled, she would attempt to riddle me out of my mind, but I had my name, and the name she paid me with, and the warm satisfaction of being well-fucked and fucking well. Shame about my dress, of course, but watching her pulling on those subtly destroyed stockings sent a thrill up my spine.

"You're going into your party all askew," Fred said, offering her back for me to button up. "You look like you've been fucked thoroughly, Miss Morgan."

"Looks can be deceiving," I said, kissing the back of her hand. "I call it a worthwhile bargain, Old One. Or is it Fred now?"

She smoothed her hair, and it turned from dark to smooth blonde glossiness. Old Ones -- the showoffs of the universe. "Alice," she said. "And you?"

"Soon to be free, Alice," I said, drawing myself to my feet feeling more regal in rags and smudges than I did with a thousand diamonds. "If you'll excuse me."


End file.
